Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Completing the Silence ❯ Fragile Healing ( Chapter 11 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

LSE // 7-22-02
(Completing the Silence - Chapter Eleven: Fragile Healing)
rated: PG13 - violence, language, content
shounen-ai/yaoi

Fragile Healing




When I wake I am confused, disorientated. Memories swim behind my
eyes, half-dreamt terrors and all too real nightmares.

Then I realize I'm sleeping with someone.

Female.

I start to panic, but she moves beside me, rolling further away,
almost against the wall. It's Natasha. Dear Natasha.

The previous day's events flood me, threatening to overwhelm and
destroy. I firmly push them away for the time, for I've found new
strength in my resolve to rid myself of these pains.

I wince as I move, sitting up and looking at my battered body. I get
up and check my watch. It's at least ten minutes until the nurses come
to wake us. I yawn, walking over to my side of the room. I wish I had
a mirror. I must look like shit.

I run a hand through the straggled mess my hair's become. I haven't
washed in... I try to think. Two days. I haven't braided it. I've
never had my hair down this long, usually only to shower and, well,
Heero likes my hair down. I feel a sharp stab of pain at the thought
of Heero.

Heero likes my hair down.

Somehow, I feel this is supposed to reassure me. My brain is throwing
that thought at me frantically.

I think I hate my hair.

Natasha's still sleeping. I think I should wake her. She seems to
think this is about more than a couple of bastard orderlies, and I'm
inclined to believe. Hell, no one's proved to me she isn't a spy for
Russia. Maybe Russia's the code name for a secret organization.

First, I rid myself of the horrible gray hospital clothes and dig out
a fresh pair of black jeans. I shift through my shirts and decide on
a white undershirt with a black button-up over shirt.

"Blah, what time is it?" Natasha inquires, sitting up.

"Six fifty-eight."

"How precise," she mutters, stumbling to her own dresser. I politely
turn away while she changes, even though I've seen her naked. Odd.
It's refreshing, my thoughts are in order once more. I feel in
control of my life. It feels good.

And yet for all reasons I shouldn't be.

Natasha yawns, sitting on her bed and putting on a pair of black
socks. I wonder how many pairs of black socks she owns.

"Cut my hair."

She looks up, blue eyes widened in surprise, "What?"

"My hair. Cut it short, like a boy's cut."

"Duo, I love your hair. Why would you ever want to cut it?"

She's calling me by my first name. I wonder if that signifies
anything. Then, I remember what day it is, "It's Wednesday, isn't it?"

"Yes."

I turn and look at her, "Aren't your friends coming tomorrow?"

She looks sad for a moment, studying her socks, "Yes. My comrades
will be freeing me tomorrow." She pauses, then looks up at me, "We
need to talk. Not now, later."

I nod, I have a feeling I know what she wants to talk about. Good,
I'm finally ready to talk.

When the nurse comes she's surprised to find us both up and dressed
already, and she tells us breakfast is in an hour. I try to think
when I last had anything to eat, but I can't think backwards. My
brain only wants to run forward, ignoring everything.

Natasha comes up behind me and gathers up my hair, lifting it off the
back of me neck. "Let me show you something," she says quietly,
drawing me over to her dresser. She takes out a black hat, a beret,
and puts it firmly on me, sweeping all my hair into it.

Looking to the door, she goes over and takes her sandals out from
under her bed and shoves them under the door. I never would have
thought to use shoes, but now that I look at it I see it makes a very
nice doorstop.

She takes out a small round compact from the drawer and opens it up,
holding the mirror before me. "Look."

I hardly recognize myself without my braid or my hair flowing free. I
turn my head, taking in the new style. I realize what Natasha's
showing me and can't help but smile. "I look different."

She reaches out and takes the beret off me. My hair tumbles free and
I once more look like me.

I look like a girl.

I turn my head away, not wanting to see what they see. They. See. Me.

"Look," she orders.

She takes my chin and lifts my head, forcing me to look into the
mirror once more. Releasing my chin, she takes my head and pulls it
aside, holding back from my face, like it's in a braid. "It's the
same, Duo. With or without the braid, with or without your hair."

She lets the hair go free and sets the compact into my hand, pressing
it closed as she does so. "Always remember that, Duo. This..." She
lays a hand over my heart, "This is what matters.

I start to grin and make fun of her cliche actions, but she shakes
her head slightly and meets my eyes. Pale blue staring into deep
violet, seeing the pain lurking within the blue, within the violet.

"I look like a girl."

She shakes her head, "Does it matter?"

Does it matter?

Does?

It?

Matter?

The compact falls to the floor as I drop to my knees, head bowed
under the pressure of the question. Does it matter? Does it matter? I
look like a girl, does it matter?

"Is it your fault?" Natasha asks softly.

Is it my fault? Does it matter?

Pain, torrents, pain, whorls, pain, screams, pain, blood, pain, hate,
pain, alley, pain, closet.

Does it matter?

No.

"No."

Natasha kneels beside me, taking up the fallen compact. "It's not
your fault, Duo. It's not your fault."

I lift my head and meet eyes once more, weighing what I find there.
Pity? Scorn? No. No, I find hurt, anger, concern, Heero. I've seen
the same look on Heero. Love.

"But I..."

"No. No exceptions. They're bastards, all of them," she waves to my
arms, the concealed wounds, "they did that to you. They did this to
you," she carefully lays a finger on my burst lip. "This." She
touches my bruised chest.

I shake my head, lifting one of my arms and pushing back the sleeve.
"I. I did this."

Natasha reaches out and cups my cheek, "Yes, you made those wounds.
Why?"

Why?

Everyone wants to know why. Only, the way Natasha says it, I know
she's figured it out. She's too smart not to have. She wants to hear
me admit it. Face it. I remember my promise to talk.

So I tell her.

I'm silent for a moment, though, gathering my thoughts. Trying to
think back on all the days. "Tuesday. Almost three weeks ago. I had
just gotten out of a job I'd taken, a little mechanic work. I'd told
Heero I was meeting a friend for coffee... I didn't want him to know
I was working on my free time. I planned on using the money to buy
him a gift. Take him to dinner."

She folds her hands in lap and gives me her full attention.

I take the compact from her and open it, looking at my face. I twirl
it over in my hands, forcing the words to come. "There's an alley, a
little ways from the house. It's dark. Between two tall buildings. I
use it all the time. Except, that day there was...someone there. I
don't know who."

"Did you see them?"

I shake my head, "It was dark, I couldn't see. I wasn't looking. He
grabbed me and hit me..." I reach up, touching the small scar over my
eye, "I hit the floor and blacked out. I knew what was happening,
though. I mean..."

"I understand."

"He took my money and I thought he would leave me. He was kneeling
over me, one hand resting on my back. He...he..." I fumble over the
words, face growing hot with shame and anger.

"He said I was beautiful. Not handsome, beautiful. Pretty. Like...
like I was a girl. Then, he..."

Natasha reaches out and lays her hands over mine to quell their
trembles. I forge ahead, "He took me."

Then, she says it. Bluntly. "Raped you."

Silence.

Complete silence.

It's the word I've been avoiding. I can't even think it, much less
say it, but she's right. Yes. That's what it is...was...

"Yes. He...raped me."

I dare to meet her eyes, thinking I'll see disgust, pity, God knows
what else. I see the same things hiding behind the crystal blue, hurt,
anger, concern, pain, understanding. Love.

I don't cry, although I want to. The scars across my heart fill like
they can heal. I've said it. Rape. I roll the word over, horrified,
terrified, I want to run from it, but I face it.

I accept it.

Natasha reaches out and strokes my freely flowing hair, "You blamed
yourself. Because you were beautiful," she says softly. I get the
feeling she truly does understand. She understands.

It makes me want to cry, because Natasha understands me. Knows me.
Not just because she read my file or went through my stuff, but
because ... because of what I can see in her eyes. My eyes.

"I really blacked out, when he finished, and I laid there. I don't
know how long. When I woke it was dark, I wandered around for a long
time. Then...it's like a light just clicked off and I forgot."

She tilts her head, "You forgot what happened?"

I nod, "I pushed it aside, I went home, told I'd did this," gesturing
to the small scar, "walking into a pole. It's something I would do,
no one thought second of it."

Her hand strokes across the scars and fading wounds along my arms.

"Two days later, Heero and I had a fight. Over something stupid. I'd
forgotten to do the laundry, he got on to me for it, I got defensive.
I'm usually not an angry person, but I got mad at Heero. We fought, I
went to sulk in the bathroom, locking the door behind me."

"And I looked in the mirror and..."

I shrug, words failing me. I don't fully understand myself. It's
vivid in my mind, horribly vivid.

All the pain, the anger. Heero yelling. The memory of the alley.

Natasha waits for me patiently, holding my hand in her lap. I look
anywhere but at her face and continue, "I saw the cut above my eye.
It all came back to me, and I suddenly couldn't stand to look at
myself anymore. I took off my cross. It's heavy. I broke the mirror
with it, I swung it on the chain and broke the mirror."

"Heero's banging on the door, demanding to know what happened. I... I
took a piece of the broken mirror. I knelt and I was going to cut my
hair. Cut off my braid. Because..." I look at her, wanting her to
fill in the painful motives for me.

"Because you blamed yourself, for being beautiful. For your hair,"
she smiles slight, "your pretty hair."

I return to slight smile, glad for the break in the agonizing
memories. "I couldn't do it. And..." I shrug and look down at my arms,
tilting the exposed flesh, studying the angry slashes.

Natasha gives me a hug and I cling to her, desperately steadying
myself against the torrent of pain that lingers to one side,
threatening to destroy me.

It feels good, to have finally told someone.

"You didn't do anything wrong, Duo. It's not your fault," she
whispers, holding me tightly.

I let the words fill me, and I realize that it's true. I think for
the first time I might be able to regain my life.

Heero.

We separate and Natasha stands, offer me a hand up. I smile
gratefully and stand. Reaching into my pocket, and I take out one of
the many hair ties that seem to populate my clothes. I offer it to
Natasha, "Would you braid my hair?"

"Happily."

--------------------------------------- -------------------------------

Although we want to spend the morning locked up in our room talking,
Natasha and I both have therapy scheduled. It's nearly lunch before I
can get free. I find her sitting in front of a chess board, by
herself, with the pieces arranged before her.

I sneak up behind her and watch for a moment, curious as to if she's
trying to play with herself. She's controlling the black pieces, but
there are only six in play. The king and queen, two rooks, a knight
and a bishop.

Across the board, on the white's side, is a full team. Natasha takes
the black queen and moves, but she doesn't play by the rules and takes
out both the opposing rooks. She sets them aside, then has the white
queen take out her own queen. Then, she suddenly laughs and sweeps a
hand over the entire board, knocking over all the pieces except the
remaining black.

Five.

Something goes off in my head, but before I can place it she rises,
seeing me standing there. "No one would play me. I've beat them all
before," she says with a smile, but I see a wary suspicion in my eyes.
Is she curious to how long I've been watching?

I look at the chessboard and start to ask, but she turns and walks
towards the cafeteria, only seconds before the lunch announcement
comes on over the speakers.

"Let's get some food in you before your friends come," Natasha says
brightly, the hooded suspicion gone from her eyes.

I think I must have imagined it.



~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


Author's Notes: Okay everyone, the chapter you've been waiting for,
the one that settles once in for all: "Why?"

I'd like to address a concern one reviewer had about
how negatively I portrayed the mental hospital. I'd just like to say
that I'm sure the doctors and staff want nothing more than to help
their patients, but they are overworked and underfunded, a bad
combination. I don't want to send the image that mentally sick people
shouldn't be put into hospitals, because they do need help.
There are many fine facilities that aren't gray, dingy and depressing
and are run by dedicated workers and equally dedicated doctors.
Unfortunately, this hospital is not such a place. Duo feels they
are out to get him, but what's to say he's wrong?
I hope this helps clarify the issue and I'd like to say I deeply
appreciate such concerns being raised.

Feedback/reviews are very much appreciated! More chapters coming.

copyright 2002 - Gundam Wing and characters copyright other people.
LSE - "Violet" (ManzokuBiscuit@aol.com)
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